


(I Fought The War) The War Won

by RayShippouUchiha



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Infinity War, And Steve Rogers broke it, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Tony Stark, Bucky "That's Rough Buddy" Barnes, Bucky Barnes aka Mr. Steal Yo Ex, Bucky Barnes-centric, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War Team Iron Man, Civil War aka Uncivil Divorce, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremis, Healing, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Possessive Behavior, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Team Cap Critical, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is Done, Tony Stark Leaves The Avengers, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Tony Stark-centric, Top Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, loss of limb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayShippouUchiha/pseuds/RayShippouUchiha
Summary: “Finish it,” Tony tells him, face bruised, chest broken, and heart just …gone.It has been ripped out by the roots again, like it had been once before not so long ago, on a couch in Malibu, with a familiar buzzing in Tony’s ears and betrayal high and sick in his throat.And Tony doesn’t want to feel like this again, didn’t want any of the things that led to this.Hadn’t wanted them right from the start.All Tony had wanted was to keep their family safe.Just like all he really wants Steve to do right now isstop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ooops?

It’s hot.

A sticky sweet kind of heat, thick and syrupy on his skin as the night presses in around them.  Outside the cicadas sing, Spanish moss swaying in the trees, as the southern heat tries its best to smother everything and anyone.

It’s different from the drier California heat he’s used to but, propped up on one arm on the feather soft mattress of the private cabin he’d bought, Tony resolutely doesn’t care.

It’s hard to when there’s an acre of peach bitten Irish skin stretched out beside him, when all he can see are berry kissed lips stretched into a soft smile, and sweat beading in the hollow of a collar bone that Tony thinks he could spend the rest of his life sipping from.

That he’s _vowed_ to spend the rest of his life sipping from.

It’s hard to think of anything else except for the way that Steve’s eyes are so _blue_ in the low lamp light.

Blue and bright like summer days, warm like fire, as lovely as a song.

Blue like the arc reactor that’s been Tony’s heart for years now,

Tony reaches up and runs his fingers across the arch of his cheek, down his jaw, back up to press softly against his mouth in a wordless request.

Steve lets him in.

Because Steve _always_ lets him in.

Just like Tony has carved a place inside of himself for Steve to crawl into in return.

Tony only lingers for a moment though before he pulls spit slick fingers away and leans down to kiss him instead, soft as silk and spun sugar sweet.

“I love you,” Tony whispers it like a vow because he has _never_ loved someone like he loves Steve and saying it too loudly right now seems almost sacrilegious.

Tony has never been godly but he thinks exceptions can always be made.

“I love you too,” Steve tells him back, hand sliding up Tony’s arm to twine their fingers, matching rings clinking together lightly.  “ _Forever_.”

Tony believes him too, is helpless to do anything else, because no has _ever_ loved him like Steve loves him.

And _god_ , before Steve had come into his life Tony hadn’t even thought it was _possible_ to love and be loved like this.

It’s one of the few times that Tony’s ever been happy to be so very _wrong_.

So, Steve’s eyes are _blue_.

And Tony wants to die in them one day.

It would be such a kind way to go, Tony thinks as Steve presses him down into the mattress, as he touches him, big hands soft and reverent.

It’d be like being wrapped in love and warmth and _safety_.

Like being bathed in sunlight.

Tony hopes that he’ll have earned a kind ending at the very least when his time finally comes.

But for now …

For now he has this, has _Steve_ , and _god_ Tony means to hold onto it, to him, with everything that he has.

~~~

The Compound’s quiet when Steve kisses him goodbye, lips soft and warm and easy.

Eyes blue and bright and lovely as a song.

“Give em hell, sweetheart,” Steve tells him with a grin.

“For you?” Tony presses closer, slides a hand up to tug lightly at Steve’s hair, “baby I’m gonna reframe the future.”

Steve laughs, fond and amused, and reels him in by his tie to kiss him again, deep and dirty and absolutely perfect.  Then he pulls back, smooths Tony’s tie down, and _smiles_.

And all Tony can think in that moment as he stares at Steve, hair messy and shoulders backlit by the rising sun, is that he wants to protect this until the day he dies.

 _‘This,'_ Tony thinks to himself, just a tad bit helpless, love stupid in all the best sort of ways, _‘this is infinity, is eternity, is every future I’ve ever dreamed about.  I’ll do anything to keep it, him, safe.'_

From now until the day he dies.

Tony promises it like a vow.

Steady and true.

~~~

The problem is, Tony never expected that day to only be thirty-six or so hours away.

~~~

The snow is cold.

The wind is biting.

Steve’s eyes are still _blue_.

The shield comes down.

The arc reactor sputters and sparks.

The shield comes _up_.

“Finish it, Steve,” Tony rasps, blood welling in his mouth.  “Finish it.”

It’s a plea.

Or maybe it’s a prayer.

Either way the truth is this:

Tony’s mouth has, far too often, said the opposite of his heart.

Steve knew that better than anyone.   _Once_.

Or at least Tony had thought he did.

Because Tony wants Steve to kill him almost as much as he wants him to _stop_.

And he’s not sure Steve knows that.

Or, even worse, that he _cares_.

“Finish it,” Tony tells him, face bruised, chest broken, and heart just … _gone_.

It has been ripped out by the roots again, like it had been once before not so long ago, on a couch in Malibu, with a familiar buzzing in Tony’s ears and betrayal high and sick in his throat.

And Tony doesn’t want to feel like this again, didn’t want any of the things that led to this.

Hadn’t wanted them right from the start.

All Tony had wanted was to keep their family safe.

Just like all he really wants Steve to do right now is _stop_.

To hold him.

To pick him up and carry him away through the Siberian ice and snow.

To take the both of them back to that cabin and those sticky sweet nights where the air was thick as syrup and the moss hung like ladies’ lace from tree branches gone twisted with time.

Back to those nights where the only thing louder than the cicadas screaming in the trees were the sounds they each made as they came, moans bitten out into each others ears, into the hollows of throats, the napes of necks, the creases of thighs.

Where the whispers of _love_ and _joy_ and the promises of _forever_ were pressed against teeth and tongues and sweat slick skin like tiny, wordless benedictions.

Back to when they were _happy_ , back when Tony loved Steve and knew, without reservation, that Steve loved him back.

Back before Tony found out that their relationship, their _marriage_ , was built on a _lie_.

Tony wants Steve to take him, _them_ , back.

Or he wants Steve to _stop_.

To pull back.

To apologize.

To hesitate for even a split second.

To pretend like Tony is still his husband instead of an obstacle to surmount.

But Steve’s never been good at doing anything but what he thinks is _right_.

Tony isn’t sure when, exactly, he stopped being ranked on that list, stopped being something Steve considered _right_ in a way that goes bone deep and soul wide.

Tony wonders if he ever actually had meant to Steve what Steve means to him, or if that too had been just another lie.

He wants to know.

He _never_ wants to know.

He’s pretty sure he already does.

“Steve,” Tony feels the tear slip from his eye, feels it track back through the blood and into his hairline, “finish it.”

 _‘Please’,_ Tony prays to anything, to anyone, who might be listening, _‘Steve please.’_

But Tony has never been a godly thing and this is no exception.

The shield comes down.

_The shield comes down._

And Tony …

Tony ...

~~~

Steve’s eyes are _blue_.

And Tony dies in them.

It is not the kind end he’d hoped for.

Instead it’s just fear.

Just cold.

Just pain.

Just …

 _Done_.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s cold.

The snow falls in thick, fluffy flakes, piling up and spreading out like it’s determined to turn the entire world white.

When Tony looks out the window of the Compound it’s almost easy to believe that nothing is left in the entire world but this sheet of unforgiving white.

Arms, thick and heavy with muscle and oh so warm, slide around his waist then, long fingers trailing up across his stomach to rest against the delicate curves of his ribcage.

Tony knows who it is of course.

He’d recognize those hands anywhere, anytime.

Plus there’s only three men in the world he’d ever let this close to his ribcage, as compromised as it is, and Rhodey and Happy never hold him like this.

“Hey sweetheart,” Steve’s voice is low and rough in his ear, his stubble a delicious sort of burr against the vulnerable curve of Tony’s neck as he nuzzles in close.  “Come back to bed, I’m cold.”

“Lies,” Tony can’t help but tease.  “You’re a space heater, you don’t get cold.”

“I’m freezing Tony,” Steve whines, “are you really going to let your husband freeze?”

“Alright alright,” Tony admits defeat easily enough as he turns in Steve’s hold to loop his arms around Steve’s neck.  He’s always so weak for Steve when he’s feeling playful. Or just for Steve in general really. “Take me back to bed, Captain my Captain.”

Steve wastes no time in sliding his hands down to grab Tony by the hips and boost him up so he can wrap his legs around his waist.  Steve’s hands move down to cup Tony’s ass over the thin silk of his boxer-briefs and Tony can’t help but shiver slightly.

“You gonna warm me up, sweetheart?”  Steve whispers in his ear as he moves them over towards the bed and tumbles the both of them down onto the sinfully soft mattress. “Chase away the cold?”

“ _Always_ ,” it comes out a little too breathy, a little too sincere for the mood that Steve was obviously trying to set.

Tony can’t help himself though.

He’s never been good at hiding himself from the people he loves and who love him back, as few and far between as they’ve been.

Steve stares down at him for a long moment before he smiles, blue eyes gentle and warm.  Tony’s eyes slip closed as Steve presses kisses up the line of his neck until his lips are pressed against his ear, a hand coming up to cover the arc reactor protectively.

“I love you, Tony,” Steve says softly as he leans over him, warm and strong and safe.

“Love you too, Steve,” Tony smiles, soft and happy, as he blinks his eyes open to stare up at his husband.

His _husband_.

 _God_ , Tony married this man.   _He gets to have this_.

Steve kisses him then, slow and deep and perfect.  The hand over the reactor presses down, a small twinge of discomfort that Tony dismisses easily enough as he reaches up and twines his fingers in the back of Steve’s hair.

The pressure grows, Steve’s fingers dig into the ring of scars that circle the reactor.

Tony breaks the kiss with a wince, blinks snowflakes out of his eyes as he stares up at Steve.

“You’re hurting me,” Tony rasps even as the pressure grows again, “Steve, _baby_ , you’re hurting me.”

“I love you, Tony,” Steve tells him, blue eyes soft.  There’s blood on his lip, across the arc of one cheek.

“I love you too, Steve,” Tony reaches down and wraps a gauntleted hand around Steve’s wrist.  “ _But you’re hurting me_.”

“I know,” Steve looks mournful even as the wrist Tony’s holding bulges with a surge of strength that Tony can’t stop.  “I know.”

Steve presses down and Tony feels something thick and wet inside of him _pop_ as agony roars through him.  He can taste blood and coconut heavy on his tongue.  The Siberian wind cuts at him, sharp as a knife and twice as cruel.

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony chokes his name out on a sob, “p-please, you’re hurting me.   _You’re killing me_.”

“I know,” Steve whispers again as he leans down and presses a soft, blood slick kiss to the side of Tony’s mouth.

And then the hand on Tony’s chest _clenches_ and jerks back and away.

Tony blinks tears and snow from his eyes as he stares up at Steve who’s sitting above him, the reactor dangling from his fist.

Even as he watches Steve’s hand tightens and the reactor shatters in a shower of sparks.

“I love you, Tony,” Steve tells him again as Tony feels himself begin to fade, “but he’s my friend.”

~~~

Tony wakes with a jolt.

The scream trapped in the back of his throat tastes like blood and snow.  Just like it always does.

“ _Shit_ ,” Tony sighs as he scrubs his left hand over his face.

It’s been three months and the nightmares aren’t getting any better.  If anything they’re getting worse, what happened in the bunker blending into unrelated memories.

Like Steve _killing_ him hadn’t been bad enough.

Now Tony has to deal with Siberia encroaching on parts of his past that used to be damn near sacred to him.  Has to deal with the memories _twisting_ over themselves to somehow become even worse than what had happened.

And it’s not something he can _ever_ forget.

Especially not as he is now.

Not when he has so many ... _reminders_.

 _‘Boss,’_ FRIDAY’s voice echoes in the back of his head, hesitant and quiet like she has been for months now, _‘there’s a call for you.'_

Tony lets Extremis stretch out across his senses as he reaches for the call.  Once he sees who it is he accepts and routes it to the speakers of the room.

He could just as easily answer it inside of his mind too but there’s something nice about having this voice fill up the space around him.

“Mechanic,” Harley's voice cuts across the silence of the penthouse, “I’m still coming right?”

“Car should be there in an hour or two,” Tony confirms even as he pushes himself up from the bed and starts towards the bathroom and a shower.  “I’ll see you a couple of hours after that.”

“You’d better be there when I get there,” Harley warns him.

“Of course kid,” Tony smiles just a bit as he turns the shower on with a thought, “wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Good,” Tony can just imagine the smug little smirk Harley’s sporting.

“Bye kid,” Tony says fondly.

“Bye Mechanic,” Harley calls back before the call disconnects.  Kid’s never been much for long goodbyes on the phone, much like Tony himself.

Tony steps beneath the shower spray, hands coming up to brace against the wall as he lets the water beat down on his back.  An attempt to wash the nightmare away, to clean the memory of blood and snow off of his skin.

To erase the betrayal and the lies, the heartbreak and the agony that had followed.

That he’s still trying to learn to live with.

It won’t work.

Tony knows that.

He looks up, eyes locking on the red and gold of his new right hand where it’s pressed against the marble, metal glistening in the steam.

No, Tony can’t wash these nightmares away.

Because they’re _real_ and he carries them _everywhere_.


	3. Chapter 3

Head tilted back, face turned up towards the night sky, Tony hovers just above the tallest point of the Tower.

He has the gauntlets and boots on but the rest of his body is bare except for the black and gold undersuit that is just a much a part of him as the armor is these days.

Extremis has changed far more of him than Tony wants to think about most days.

Far more than he’d ever wanted to change, far more than Rhodey should have _ever_...

He shakes the thoughts away though and tries to focus on something more positive.

Something like how, right now below him, tucked into Tony’s bed in the penthouse and watched over by FRIDAY and Tony both, Harley is safe and fast asleep.

He’d latched onto Tony as soon as the door to the car had opened and had refused to let go even hours later.  He’d even followed Tony to bed, ignoring the room two doors down that Tony had set up for him.

And Tony, tired and aching in ways that go beyond the physical, hadn’t even bothered to protest when Harley had crawled into bed beside him and latched back onto him like an overgrown octopus.

Instead he’d found himself on his back, propped up by a few pillows, with Harley’s head on his chest as he played with Tony’s new hand absently.

“Are you dying again?”  There’d been something small and frightened in Harley’s voice when he’d asked, something _young_ buried just beneath the anger Tony had practically been able to taste rolling off of him when he’d first arrived.

“No,” Tony had managed to answer, biting back all of his bitterness, all of his own hurt.  “No kiddo, I’m not.”

“Good,” Harley had whispered as he twined his fingers with Tony’s red and gold ones.  “I’m glad you’re okay. I didn’t want to lose you too.”

“You won’t,” Tony had swallowed hard and forced the words out.  “I’m right here and I’m … I’m not going anywhere, Harl. Not for a long time okay?  Promise.”

“Okay,” Harley had sighed and then he’d turned his head to hide his face in Tony’s chest.

Tony had held him there, their hands entwined, and pretended like he couldn’t feel his tank top growing damp.  Pretended like he couldn’t feel the way Harley’s shoulders shook just a bit as he cried.

Instead he’d just held the boy close, ran gentle human fingers through his messy hair, scratching lightly at the closely buzzed underside and flicking idly at the little Iron Man helmet studs in his ear with a light huff of amusement.

All the while he’d found himself humming soft and low under his breath.  A half remembered Italian lullaby that might have been a dream.

He’d only slipped out of the bed once Harley had finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the plane and car ride as well as the crying.

Now, hours later, Tony can’t get that those questions out of his head, can’t erase the sheer _relief_ in Harley’s voice from his mind.

It makes something inside of him uncurl just a bit, something wounded and limping whine high and longing in the back of his throat.

Tony lets himself float softly back down to the landing pad of the Tower, lets the armor sink back beneath the skin of his three intact limbs.

For a moment his attention is caught, as it always is these days, on his new hand.

On the reminder of all he’s lost.

Of all that’s been taken from him.

Of all that had willfully abandoned him.

And then he shakes his head sharply and clenches his red and gold fist tightly before he turns to pad quietly back towards his open bedroom door.

He’s been watching Harley through the cameras of course but, even with Extremis, it’s not the same as seeing him with his own two eyes.

And right now, in this moment, Tony wants, needs, to see him in person again.

So, quiet as a ghost, Tony moves towards the bedroom door and stands there, shoulder propped against the frame.

The boy’s grown since they first met and is, technically, a teenager now.  But staring at him like this, all long gangly limbs, and messy hair curled into a tight ball around Tony’s pillow …

Well like this all Tony can see is that little floppy haired brat who’d saved his life without even really trying.

Just being near him again after so long spent chatting over video calls or texts makes Tony’s heart _squeeze_ in his chest.

Harley, like scrappy, noble little Peter Parker, occupies a space in Tony’s heart he never thought would be filled by anything or anyone but the children he made with his own two hands.

But now …

Now when Tony looks at those two kids all he can do is wonder what was so wrong with _him_ as a child that Howard and Maria couldn’t stand to be around him.

Because when Tony looks at them he can’t imagine a world where he’d have a child and not be hopelessly in love with everything about them.

All he can do is look at Harley and try, yet again, to ignore that part of him he’d always shuffled to the side in the past.

The part that would look at kids, at babies and little bright eyed chubby toddlers, and _yearn_.

It had grown in him too these last few years, the thoughts of _babies_ and _family_.  Had grown after every chat with Harley, and then after every meeting with Peter.

And it’s a yearning that not even Ste-… that not even this latest heartbreak could completely erase.

But Tony knows the truth now.

He’ll never be a father, not for real, not to anything he didn’t make with his own two hands.

But maybe that doesn’t matter so much.

Because at least … at least he has _this_.

At least he has Harley and Peter and the place they’ve both carved out in their lives for him.

And he’s already lost so much that he wouldn’t trade a single second of this for anything in the world.

Tony reaches out without really thinking about it, reaches for someone he loves but is still having a hard time forgiving.

Someone he never wants to live without even though they’re both drowning in guilt at the moment.

The call connects between one breath and the next.

“Hello,” the voice is ragged and rough, _sad_ in a way that makes Tony’s heart clench.

“Hey Rhodey,” Tony answers softly as he leaves the door of his bedroom and moves back towards the penthouse window.

“Tones,” Rhodey half sobs his name, “ _Tones_.”

“I think,” Tony says slowly, _gently_ , “we need to talk.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me, ya girl, back at this again. Make sure you let me know what you think!

“I’m not sorry,” Rhodey tells him, voice soft but firm.

Tony stares out at the skyline for a long moment before he sighs, closes his eyes, and leans forward to press his forehead against the thick glass of the window.

He doesn’t say anything.

Instead he just … _listens_.

“I love you, Tones,” there’s a sad sort of _ache_ in Rhodey’s voice then, “you’re my family, my brother, and I couldn’t … I couldn’t let you die like that.  I couldn’t let you go. Maybe it was selfish but I just … I would have spent the rest of my life missing you, wanting you back, hating myself for letting you slip away again.”

Rhodey sucks in a shallow breath and Tony can’t help but hear the way it hitches on a barely bitten back sob.

“I’ve almost lost you so many times already and I couldn’t do it again, not when I could fix it.  Not when I could actually save you this time.” Rhodey pauses for a second, swallows thickly, and then pushes on.  “So you can hate me Tony, and Vision too, for what we did. For the choice we took from you. You can h-hate us both and that … that’s _okay_.  It’s gonna hurt like hell, it already hurts like hell, but this … this isn’t about us.  This is about _you_.  So just, if that’s what you need to do that’s fine.  But I can’t lie to you and pretend that I’m sorry I did it.  Extremis saved my brother and that’s something I’ll never be able to regret even if I hate the circumstances.”

Rhodey’s breathing comes thick and heavy down the line and directly to Tony.  Hearing him sound so hurt, so tired and mournful, makes Tony’s heart clench.

He’s so tired of feeling this way.

Tired of being sad.

Tired of seeing the few people he has left in his life being hurt and sad around and because of him.

Tony hates the way Steve took everything they had built together and ripped it apart.  Tore it into jagged, malformed pieces and scattered them to the winds.

Shattered it to pieces like the life they’d built together had ultimately amounted to nothing.

Like Tony was nothing more than a stop gap, an easily discarded distraction.

An obstacle to overcome.

Sometimes Tony feels like he’s back in Afghanistan, back in the sand during the attack on the convoy, chest sliced open and shrapnel working its way deeper and deeper inside of him.

Because, for the third time, an explosive has been dropped directly into the middle of Tony’s life.

Only this time Steve had thrown Tony right on top of it, had forced him to lay down on the grenade, had pressed him down onto the wire without mercy.

And then he’d crawled right over Tony.

Had left him behind, broken, bleeding, _dying_ , and yet still, somehow, expected to deal with the aftermath.

Tony’s just … so fucking sick of being the one who has to clean up after everyone’s messes.

Tired of being the one shouldering the weight for more than just his own fuck ups.

Ultimately Tony’s just _tired_.

He wants his _life_ back but Tony knows that will never happen.

What he had, what’d he’d built over the past handful of years, is _gone_.  Dust in the wind.

So that leaves Tony right where he is now, forced to, once again, pick up the pieces and rebuild.

And, Extremis or no, Tony isn’t sure how many restarts he has left in him.

Even phoenix metaphors personified get tired of restarting eventually.

“Say something,” Rhodey’s voice breaks the silence then, rough and just a shade off desperate.  “Please, Tones, just … say _something_.”

And Tony knows that, despite everything that’s happened, there’s only one thing he can say.

“I forgive you,” Tony says it softly, sincerely.  Because if anyone besides the kids deserves what softness Tony has left in him it’s Rhodey.  It will _always_ be Rhodey.  “I know you’re not sorry, you or Vision, but I forgive you anyways.  Both of you. And I’m not … I’m not _okay_ with what you did, about what happened.  Fuck, Rhodey I’m so fucked up about all of it.  And _Extremis_ … Extremis was, specifically, never something I wanted, not like this.  But I … I understand _why_ you did it.  Hell I probably would have done the same in your shoes, done whatever I could to save you even if you hated me afterwards.  That’s what love’s supposed to be, right? Like you and Jarvis always used to tell me?”

Rhodey’s crying now.  Tony can hear the bitten back sobs as they slide down across the line to him.

Each one feels like another blow.

 _God_ why did Steve have to do this to him, to _them_?

Why did Tony let him?

 _Why_?

“So,” Tony keeps going softly, an aching sort of truth pouring out of him with every word, “I’m not okay Rhodey, not by a long shot, but I’m ... _adjusting_ to my new reality as best I can.  And I don’t … I don’t know if I ever will be.  I’m tired, Rhodey. Of all of it, of everything.  But I’m gonna keep going, gonna push through _one more time_.”

Tony pauses, swallows his own emotions down roughly, and opens his eyes again to stare out at the skyline.

It’s as breathtakingly beautiful as he’s always thought it to be but it isn’t really capable of moving him right now.

Another casualty of the so called war Tony had _never_ wanted to fight.

“You’ve been a constant for me,” Tony finally keeps going, voice soft, “ever since I was fourteen.  You’ve been one of the few really, _truly_ good things in my life.  So if I’m gonna try and do this again then there’s no one I’d rather have by my side along the way than you.  Because I don’t hate you, not even a little bit. _You saved me, Rhodey._  Saved me when all I wanted was to _die_.  Just like you always have.  Just like you always do. You loved me enough to save me, even if it’d end up hurting _you_ in the end.  And I could never hate you for that.  All I have for you is what love I’ve got left in me to give.”

The sound of Rhodey’s tears is still painful but Tony thinks he can hear the relief in them this time.

Either way he stays there, standing at the window, and listens to Rhodey on the other end of the line for the longest time.

Long after Rhodey has fallen asleep.

Tony just stands there, his best friend, his brother, in his ear and Harley safe and sound in his room and just … _breathes_.

He misses Steve with an ache he can’t define.  With a visceral sort of agony he can barely describe.

But missing Steve, missing what they’d had only a few short months ago, the now tainted and tarnished memory of the love Tony had once thought was so strong between the two of them, isn’t enough.

Tony knows it isn’t.

Because the betrayal?

The hurt and agony?

The _fear_?

They’re _stronger_.

Tony feels them deeper, keener, than he ever has in his entire life.

They drown out the lingering whispers of attachment he still has where Steve is concerned.

And, staring out at the way dawn is beginning to lick at the skyline, Tony realizes one unavoidable truth that he’s been shying away from truly and completely facing for months now.

The truth that’s been lingering in the back of his chaotic mind since the very _moment_ he came out of the cocoon Extremis had forced him into as less human than he’d been days before and down one flesh and blood hand.

There’s only one option for him going forward.

One very important step he has to take in order to begin picking up the pieces of his shattered life so he can try to forge something new from the rubble.

A single choice that he’d once been so very sure would never actually come to pass.  At least not from his side.

A word that had, once, been enough to have his heart skip a beat and his stomach clench in dread at even the _thought_ of it.

A word that is, now, all he can think of as he tries to wrap his head around what he needs to do next.

 _Divorce_.


	5. Chapter 5

Pepper’s eyes are red and glassy but her expression is steel all the way through to the core.

Tony quirks a small smile in her direction, a flicker of a thing really.

“I’ll take care of the rest, Tony,” Pepper tells him softly as she reaches up and runs her hand through his hair, her engagement ring catching the light as she does.

“Thank you Pep,” Tony says as he leans his head against her shoulder and tries to breathe.  “Thank you.”

“I’m glad to help,” Pepper tells him.  “I just wish …”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs.  “Yeah I know.”

“I’m not going to be kind about this, Tony,” Pepper warns him then.  “You know that right? The pre-nup I had you sign … I’m sticking to it.  And then some. I don’t have it in me to be kind with this. Not after everything.”

“Good,” Tony tells her.  “Good.”

Tony doesn’t have it in him to be kind about this either.  Doesn’t have it in him to do much of anything at the moment.

Which is one more reason as to why he’s so very thankful to have Pepper at his side.

She might not be his PA anymore and anything beyond friendship between them might have been dead and buried years ago, but Pepper will always be a part of his family.

He trusts her to do what needs to be done.  Trusts her to do the things he doesn’t have the will to do in this moment.  To help him cut this tie with the same brutal efficiency that has always been a part of their working dynamic.  A dynamic that has made both of them feared and loved by turns in the business world.

Tony trusts her to fight this part of the battle for him so he can marshal his strength for all of the ones still yet to come.

~~~

The ease with which Tony divorces Steve has him biting back a burst of hysterical laughter.

It feels wrong, somehow, that his marriage is so easy to undo.

That all it takes is a few phone calls and some ink on paper to separate them so neatly.

That it ends, technically, legally, not with a bang but with barely even a whimper.

Just the whisper of a pen against paper and Pepper’s hand on his shoulder in support.

But then, as Tony knows now with a aching sort of certainty, it was apparently always so easy to destroy.

Was always one word, one action, away from destruction, from being rendered null and void.

Tony had thought he’d found forever with Steve.

But now …

Now Tony can’t help but wonder if all he ever was, in the end, was a placeholder.

A replacement or a distraction.

A stop gap between where Steve was and where he wanted to be.

Because from Tony’s side of things, that’s exactly what it seems like.

What’s almost worse is the sense of not knowing.  The bite of that particular question, that particular _what if,_ itches at Tony day and night.

But, unfortunately or not, Tony thinks that his less than pleasant musings might be as close to the truth as he’ll ever get.

Mainly because only Steve knows the real answer to that question.  Only Steve could lay out his reasoning and his motives clearly if asked.

But that doesn’t matter either.

Because Tony knows that he’ll have a hard time believing Steve on anything now.  His days of blind belief in Steve are long since over with.

Steve’s word, much like their marriage apparently, means little in the scheme of things.

Steve had proven that to him in the most brutal of ways possible.

And unlike so many times before in his life where his heart is concerned, Tony’s not inclined to set himself up to learn that lesson a second time.

Once was enough for him to gather all of the data he might ever need on the subject.

There’s no need to repeat the experiment no matter what the scientific method might say.

~~~

Tony knows what he has to do next.

Knows what the next step of the process is.

He also knows he’s put it off for far too long.

But, in Tony’s defense, he’d been … indisposed for some time.  Had been busy adjusting to his new reality.

His new normal.

But now he’s ready to do what he knows has to be done.

“Dr. Stark?”  The aid, a harried looking man in a severe black suit, speaks up.  “They’re ready for you, sir.”

“Thank you,” Tony dips his head in acknowledgement and moves forward, his right hand firmly in his pocket.

He’s not ashamed of it but it is, as he’s learned, a bit of a distraction for some people even after so many months and despite the fact that the truth of how he got it isn’t common knowledge.

And he needs everyone focused and paying attention to his words and not his arm.

Ironing out the Accords is too important to allow for any unnecessary distractions this time around.

“Have faith,” Vision speaks up lowly at his side as they move towards the awaiting panel.  “I believe we shall be able to make headway today.”

“Faith is in short supply for me these days, V,” Tony tells him softly.

“I am aware,” Vision tells him softly, something aching in his voice.  “And that is a fact that I have found myself mourning daily.”

~~~

It takes months of arguing, months of paperwork and testimonies and give and take, to accomplish what Tony knows needs to be done.

Months of backbreaking work with Vision and Rhodey at his side, with Pepper and SI’s lawyers backing him up.

Months of shouldering a burden that Tony had once thought he’d be able to share with Steve.

But in the end he, they, manage to do it.

Tony thinks it makes for a fine framework on which to build the future.

And a fine parting gift as well.

~~~

Hovering above the bay, the moon shining down on him, Tony stares out over the water, fingers flipping the small circle of vibranium in his hand over and over.

His wedding ring, as bright and flawless as the day Steve had presented it to him.

It was made from small shavings taken from the shield, a symbolic gesture that had meant the world to Tony at one point.

Just like the ring he’d given Steve, a thick golden band made up of a familiar gold-titanium alloy, had brought tears to Steve’s eyes.

Now Tony tosses it up into the air and catches it.

Tosses it.

Catches it again.

Then he takes a moment to look down at it one last time.

“I hope whoever finds you has better luck than I did,” Tony murmurs to the ring as he rubs his thumb across the smooth surface.

And then he pulls his arm back and throws.

Backed by his enhanced strength the ring sails out over the water.

By the time it hits the surface Tony’s long gone.

There’s nothing left for him there after all.

And he feels all the lighter for it somehow.

~~~

“Are you sure about this?”  Rhodey’s voice is quiet, low and careful.  Gentle, just like the way he always is with Tony these days.

Like he’s afraid that one wrong move will make him shatter.

Tony doesn’t know how to tell him that he’s not sure there’s enough of him left to break at this point.

But then maybe Rhodey already knows that.

Because isn’t that what these past few months were supposed to have been about in the first place?

Tony doing what he has to do in order to gather up his broken pieces and spare parts and weld them back together into some semblance of a life.

“I’m sure, Rhodey,” Tony tells him and it’s the full and unvarnished truth.  “This … I think this is the only way.”

“It’s just …,” Rhodey trails off with a grimace as he shifts in place, leg braces a thing of the past now thanks to a small, highly tailored dose of Extremis and Cho’s Cradle.  “This was your dream, Tones. I don’t … I don’t want to take it from you like this.”

“I don’t have dreams anymore,” Tony answers.  “Just nightmares and memories. Half the time I can’t even tell which is which.  So … yeah. I’m sure. It’s better this way. You’ll start fresh, make things new and better.  And just because I’m pulling back doesn’t mean I’m gonna leave you all on your own. You’ll still have my support in a lot of areas.  But I just … I’m done Rhodey. Done with this, with them. And you’re the only one I trust to do what we both know needs to be done with this.”

“Alright,” Rhodey finally agrees with a shuddering breath.  “Alright, Tony. As long as you know that there’ll always be a place for you, no matter what.”

“I know,” Tony quirks a small smile at him.  “But I think Iron Man’s days as an Avenger are done even though the world still needs a team of heroes.  And you’re the best man I know Rhodey, the best man I’ve ever met. So that’s why I’m leaving them to you.”

~~~

A year after Siberia, a year after Tony died in the cold blue of Steve’s eyes, it’s over.

The Accords are amended and put into place.

Pardons are declared in the US and delivered and signed.

The Rogues set foot on US soil again a scant year after Tony’s entire life was split right down the middle.

Safe in the Tower’s penthouse Tony doesn’t even bother to watch the ceremony, even though he knows his absence is going to lead to a great deal of outcry.

Outcry that’ll only grow worse when Rhodey informs everyone that Tony has resigned his seat on the Avenger's roster barring any possible extinction level events.

The press is going to have a field day no doubt.

But, as far as Tony is concerned, those are problems for another time and other people.

Right now he’s got more important things to do.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s hot.

The jungle of Wakanda is covered with a layer of thick, damp, cloying heat that presses down and into his skin like it’s trying to reach the ice that still lingers in his bones.

It’s not uncomfortable so much as it is noticeable.

Things like hot and cold don’t really matter to him anymore the way they do to other people.

He was trained better than that after all.

So, even with the heat’s constant attempts to burrow through his skin, he’s still more than alert enough to admit that he can’t help but find Wakanda gorgeous.

It’s a technological wonderland, an awe inspiring mix of nature and man the likes of which he’s never seen.  The likes of which HYDRA would have simultaneously sneered at and coveted.

There’s a part of him that’s almost smug at being able to experience it, at being able to smell the air and drink the water in the one place on Earth that HYDRA never really touched.

But that doesn’t mean that he misses his small, crumbling apartment in Bucharest any less though.

Because he does miss it.

He misses the peeling yellow walls of his tiny kitchen.  Misses the way his shower was so small his shoulders barely fit all the way inside.  Misses his mattress on the floor and the way it smelt of gun oil and sweat but was still softer than anything HYDRA had ever let him have.

Misses the way his entire apartment would smell of pepper and chili every time the old woman downstairs cooked tripe soup.  Misses the odd jobs he used to do around the building or down by the docks where no one ever asked questions and he was just another person struggling to get by.

He misses the thick stack of notebooks that he’d slowly been filling up with half remembered dreams and a scattershot of memories.  He doesn’t even know where they ended up or if anyone else has been reading them and that thought is both enraging and easy to shrug off all at the same time.

Rage, he knows, does him little good these days without a target to direct it towards.

He even misses _Pisică_ _*_ , the angry tom cat that liked to linger on his fire escape in the evenings.  He’d been a wary, half starved thing when Bucky had first seen him, desperate for attention and care but too afraid of being kicked to openly accept it.

Bucky had been more than able to relate and had taken to leaving bits of food on the windowsill for the scrappy thing.

Eventually they’d come to a sort of non-aggression treaty in the months before everything had come crashing down.  Bucky had fed him on the regular and in return _Pisică_ would occasionally let him pet him for a few seconds.

After dinner on exceptionally good days, _Pisică_ would even rub his teeth against the metal of Bucky’s hand as he purred and glared in an almost resentful show of affection.

Bucky misses all of that.

Misses his routine.

Misses the bustle of the city and the quiet of his apartment.

Misses the solitude.

Misses being able to be _Russian_ instead of _Brooklyn_ without encountering any sort of judgement or grief.

Misses the lack of expectations.

Misses not having to pretend to be anything but what he is.

Most days he wishes Steve had never come for him.

~~~

He dreams about the cold sometimes, a mix of nightmare and memory.

Dreams about snow and red haired little girls who bleed out against frost covered tree trunks.  Dreams about his hands overflowing with red, made filthy with thick, gummy blood.

Sometimes he dreams about an arm around his throat, metal thick and solid against his windpipe as a question is rasped in his ear.

 _'Do you even remember them?’_ Stark whispers to him like a phantom breathing in his ear when the night is long and sleep is a thing that ebbs and flows over him like the tide.

He always remembers exactly what Stark had sounded like in that moment too, has the sound seared directly into his brain.

He remembers the way Stark’s voice had been ragged and _aching_ like he’d been cut soul deep and left to bleed.

And, knowing now what he hadn’t known then, Bucky knows he _was_.

~~~

The heat is never ending Bucky’s decided.

Even when he wakes up in a cold sweat from this nightmare or that memory as his brain heals in agonizing surges, becomes whole in a way it hasn’t been in almost a century, the heat is still there.

On those nights he inevitably finds his way into the shower, the arm Princess Shuri built for him glinting in the low light as he turns the cold water on as high as it will go.

But even that does nothing to impact the heat found outside the walls of this new gilded prison he’s found himself in.  The heat that somehow manages to creep in around the edges of his senses despite the coldness of the shower or the obviously superior cooling system of the building he’s being kept in now.

Everywhere he turns in this place the heat is there.

Like it’s trying to burrow inside of him and warm him up from the inside out.  To get at that core of ice still lingering inside of him.

It's still more noticeable than an actual hindrance, but that's mainly because it won’t work.

He knows that first hand.

Nothing will be able to undo what’s been done to him.

Nothing will be able to melt that icy, analytical core of him into something warmer.

It’s a part of him now, that frigid thing inside of him, central to his being.

He’d tried to fight it in the beginning when the conditioning had first broke.

He’d been confused and afraid and angry about being confused and afraid.

So he’d tried to fight the memories that had rushed in at him, tried to beat them out of his own head.  Tried to smother them and claw them out.  Anything, everything, to make them stop.

But they'd just kept coming no matter what he did, growing in number the longer he went without being subjected to the chair.

Eventually he'd given up on that angle of attack and instead he’d tried to fight the instincts that had been wired into him by long years of pain and practice.  Tried to revert back to the half remembered man he'd used to be.  Tried to bury everything he'd picked up on and done in the years since he fell from that train.

He’d tried with a wild sort of desperation, to pick a side.  To choose between the scattered pieces of who he’d been and the frigid wreck of what he’d been made into.

To become one or the other.

It had been doomed to failure from the start.

So he's long since accepted the cold that lingers inside of him as part of his natural state of being these days.

Has long accepted all that it brings with it as well.

After seventy years of training and pain and having his entire world flash frozen over and over again, he’s come to two solid conclusions.

First is that he will never be the _James Buchanan Barnes_ of old again, no matter how many times he calls himself _Bucky_.  It’s just a name he wears like an ill fitting suit after all, is something he’s outgrown but keeps because it used to be comfortable.  Because Steve takes comfort in it as well and there is something inside of him that will always care about that punk’s well being.

The second thing he’s come to terms with is the fact that the name _Winter Soldier_ has become more than just a title for him.

More than just a designation forced upon him by HYDRA.

He’d been HYDRA’s Winter Soldier, their Asset and their Soldat, for longer than he’d ever been Bucky Barnes.

And that is a fact that he can’t, _won’t_ , ignore.

It’s something that’s changed him in ways he can barely even begin to describe.

He is _the_ Winter Soldier in a way that the others in the program, members of HYDRA’s kill squad and eager _volunteers_ , never were.

They’d been cheap copies in a lot of ways, attempts to replicate what HYDRA had found in him.  Their perfect Asset, the Fist of HYDRA who would crush their enemies in his grasp.

But they’d been failures, too hostile, too unpredictable, too filled up to the brim with the rage of their _glorious cause_.

They’d been monsters at the core instead of soldiers.

Unlike Bucky.

He’d been a soldier first before everything else.  Had been a soldier that HYDRA had salvaged and then warped and carved into a perfect monster of a killing machine.

So, Bucky is _the_ Winter Soldier.

That’s the truth, plain and simple.

Even if Bucky didn’t choose it, even if he’d never wanted it, that doesn’t change the fact that he is what he is now.

It might not have been his choice to follow the orders HYDRA had given him, but it was his hands that carried them out.

That blood is his to carry.

And that’s something that Steve, stubborn as he is, seems to be almost willfully misunderstanding.

No amount of _‘it wasn’t you’_ or _‘it’s not your fault, Buck’_ will ever change those facts.

And there’s a part of Bucky that doesn’t even want them to.

It had taken almost a year after D.C. before he’d finally found a workable sort of balance between the two halves of himself.

He'd finally realized that he only had enough pieces to form a single whole if he combined all he'd been and all he currently was.

It had been painful in some ways but he'd found a dim sort of peace in the process.

A peace that he guards jealously, a part of him ready to snarl and lash out at anything that might threaten it.

It’s the same part of him that has had to actively work over the past few years to learn to think of himself as _Bucky_ instead of _Asset_ or _Soldat_.  To think of himself as a person instead of an object, a tool.

It’s that same, unfaltering part of him that holds a certain sort of possessiveness for the title he’d earned through blood and bone and agony over the years.

It might not be the best or most healthy legacy he could have but it’s _his_.

He suffered for it, had bits and pieces of his mind and his soul ripped away and erased for it.

_He is the Winter Soldier._

And he's decided that nothing gets to take that away from him.

Not even Steve.

Bucky has had enough of ripping himself apart in order to fight other people’s wars.

There are no more shackles left to hold him.

No more strings left to guide his movements.

No more HYDRA.

No more missions.

No more handlers.

Just … _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pisică - Romanian for cat


	7. Chapter 7

A year passes Bucky by like a sigh.  Softly and barely noticeable.

And even after so much time, even with the lingering gaps in his memories, even after everything HYDRA had done to hollow him out, Bucky knows one thing for certain.

He loves Steve.

He honestly, truly does.

It lingers there in the back of his mind, stamped onto his bones and writ large across his soul.

He loves Steve.

He _does_.

Loves him soul deep, loves him enough to claw his way past HYDRA’s conditioning, loves him enough to follow him into a fight when all he’d really wanted to do was to turn and run the other way.

Loves him enough to grit his teeth and bare the weight of all his expectations.

But, as a century of death and torture and having others pull his strings like he’s nothing more than a puppet has taught Bucky, love isn’t always enough.

Because Bucky loves Steve, but he sure as _hell_ doesn’t understand him anymore.

Not like he used to.

There’d been a time, once, when Bucky would have been able to predict how Steve would react to something before he even knew what his own reaction would be.

But those days are dead and gone for the most part, dust in the wind.

Steve has changed so much from the skinny kid in a new body that Bucky had followed through the war, the one he’d loved like a brother and worried over almost constantly before that.

There’s moments now where a part of Bucky isn’t sure who he actually loves, the Steve in front of him or the one in his still spotty memories.

The rest of the time the rest of him knows the truth.

And Bucky knows that he’s being more than a bit of a hypocrite when it comes down to it.

Because it’s difficult to grit his teeth and deal with the way Steve tries to mold him back into the shape of the man he used to be.  It makes his hands itch for a knife, makes his head pound and his fists clench.

But all the while all he can really think about is how much he misses the old Steve.

Misses the little guy who knew what it was to be _weak_ and _unheard_ instead of this new Steve who is so used to being powerful, so used to being listened to, that he doesn’t always hear anyone else’s voice.

The difference, he supposes, is that he knows Steve has changed, acknowledges it.  And as much as he misses the Stevie from years gone by he has no interest in trying to mold the Steve of today back into what and who he'd once been.

And that's not something he can say goes both ways between the two of them.

So, in the end, the truth of the matter is this:

Bucky loves Steve, but he doesn’t necessarily like him at the moment.

And a part of him is sure that, despite everything that happened, the feeling is mutual.

He sees it sometimes, in the way Steve looks at him, at the way he grimaces sometimes when he thinks Bucky’s not paying attention.

Sometimes Bucky can’t help but wonder if Steve has moments where he wishes he’d never come for Bucky either.

He’s sure he does and Bucky doesn’t blame him for it.

He’s not what Steve wanted, isn’t the man Steve thought he was rescuing.

Bucky knows that and his eyes are more than sharp enough to pick up on all of the little ways in which they rub each other wrong these days.

They may flow together smoothly, flawlessly, in battle but outside of it?

They’re both too changed from what they used to be, the dynamic they’d once had broken and no longer workable.

It’ll take effort to fix it, to build something new between the two of them, a new relationship for this new century they’ve found themselves in.

But there’s a dark part of Bucky that just isn’t convinced that is an effort he wants to make.  That the work required is something he’s ready and willing to do.

Not when his memories of their past together are still spotty but the sense memory of Steve’s throat clenched in his hands is sharp and clear.

Not when he’s spent so long being a force of destruction.

Soldier’s don’t build easily, Bucky knows, they fight first, they destroy by nature.

It had taken all of Bucky’s control and all of his will to begin to carve out the small life he’d made for himself in Bucharest.  He doesn’t know if he has it in him to build something new with a Steve who has forgotten what it is to create, who buried the artist that he used to be beneath the soldier he became.

Bucky can’t help but think that they’ll just make it all worse somehow, the two of them fumbling along together.

That any new foundation of friendship and brotherhood they might build between them will crumble and fall with just the right amount of pressure.

With that truth rattling around in his soul, Bucky can’t help the direction his thoughts take afterwards.  Not when he’s sitting out beneath the stars on a night when sleep is something that only comes in passing and he’s finally alone again with his own thoughts.

Thoughts that turn, as they so often do these days, towards one specific direction.

Towards one specific man.

A man who, undoubtedly, knows just as well as Bucky does, that love isn’t always enough.

Anthony Stark.  The Iron Man. Steve’s husband.

Though Bucky can’t help but wonder how true that last title really is.

Bucky can’t help but think of him on nights like this.  Nights after days spent with Steve who clutches the wedding ring he wears on a chain around his neck like a talisman.

Like if he grips it hard enough Stark will somehow feel him despite the distance and the pain between them.

No Bucky can’t help but think about Stark after an afternoon sitting side by side with Steve as he spills story after story about his beautiful, genius _husband_.

Steve talks about Stark like the stories have welled up so high inside of him that he has no choice but to let them flow.

Like he’ll drown if he doesn’t tell _someone_.

And Bucky …

Well Bucky’s found that there’s an ocean of something that feels almost like _pity_ inside of him for Steve on the days when that happens.  When the desperation and that haunting kind of sadness and grief is all too apparent in Steve’s expression as he talks about all the things he wants to do to try and fix things between him and Tony.

But Bucky’s also found that he’s more than willing to listen.

Even if his motivation is far from pure.

Because he’s not listening for Steve, not really, not completely.

There’s something about Stark that ... _interests_ him.

Something that goes beyond the dossier HYDRA had continuously updated on the man over the years.  Or the way that Bucky had standing orders to capture Stark instead of eliminating him if the opportunity were to ever present itself to him or his team.  Stark had been a top priority to HYDRA on a number of levels.

Maybe it was sparked by that, by the way Stark had seeped in around the edges of his life way before he’d ever broken his programming.

Maybe it had been that little smirk, that smug little glimmer in his eyes, when Stark had danced his way around and over the sprawled out bodies around Bucky and took his gun apart in his hand with a few swift movements.  There’d been a calculating sort of competence to him in that moment that had captured Bucky’s attention even then, made something in him sit up and take notice, before he’d shoved it and Stark forcefully away.

Or maybe it’s the way that Bucky knows he’s only alive now because Stark hadn’t been trying to outright kill him or Steve.

Either way, unlike with Steve, it isn’t _pity,_ what Bucky feels for Stark,

But maybe, he can’t help but muse, maybe it would be better if it _was_.

~~~

The ride to the Compound is quiet.  There’s a nervous energy in the others that Bucky doesn’t feel, can’t really relate to.

They're going home after a year hiding from most of the world.

Bucky's just relocating.

So instead he keeps his breathing even and his eyes focused straight ahead.

Beside him Steve is practically vibrating, body wound tight and hand clenched so tightly around his necklace that Bucky’s surprised the ring doesn’t warp.

Stark again, Bucky knows.

Because this will be the first time Steve will see him since everything happened.  The first time he gets to speak to him. The phone and letters he’d sent had all gone unanswered.

Bucky has a creeping feeling that this … this isn’t going to go at all how Steve’s hoping it will.

Not even with the fact that Stark had gone to bat to iron out the Accords and their US pardons taken into consideration.

No, if Stark is half as cunning and half as competent as Bucky thinks he is, then this?

This is going to _hurt_.

~~~

It takes two and a half hours to get everything cleared and settled before they’re allowed into the Compound.

Colonel Rhodes, expression grim, is strictly professional as he ushers them into a nearby conference room.

Bucky takes a seat closest to the wall with a clear line of sight out the large bay windows and of the sliding glass doors.  The others file in around him but he pays them no mind. His attention is focused past them, towards the door and an unfamiliar but rhythmic step he can hear coming down the hall at a steady clip.

“ _Jim_ ,” Steve’s voice is gruff and there’s a naked kind of vulnerability on his face when Bucky looks at him.

Bucky turns back towards the door right before it opens.

“Don’t,” Rhodes says sharply with a raised hand.  “Just don’t. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before this entire thing can be done for the day and you can start getting settled in.  Personal questions can wait until afterwards.”

“That’s where you’re wrong Jim,” the woman who steps through the door says.

“Pepper?”  Rhodes doesn’t looks surprised so much as resigned.  And perhaps, if Bucky’s not judging him wrong, just the tiniest bit _smug_.  “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m afraid,” Virginia "Pepper" Potts says, her white suit immaculate and red lips splitting wide in a vicious, teeth baring smile, “I have a bit of personal business that just can’t wait.”


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky’s more than a bit impressed at the way everyone in the room except for Rhodes automatically stiffens.

Especially given the way Steve goes pale and then flushes just a bit before he turns towards her, mouth opening as if he’s going to say something.

“Stop,” Potts holds up one slim, flawlessly manicured hand in Steve’s direction.

Steve freezes.

“Sit. Back. _Down_.” Potts’ voice is soft and almost shockingly cold as she enunciates each word deliberately, a finger pointing at the chair Steve had lunged up out of the moment she’d stepped into the room.

Steve sits back down.

Bucky has to tamp down the ridiculous urge to check and see if his kneecaps are actually destroyed or not from how fast his legs had folded underneath him.

“Good boy,” Potts murmurs, that same sharp smile on her face as she makes her way to the head of the table, sets her black leather suitcase on the table and waves away the seat that Rhodes offers her.  “It seems as if you can follow directions. On occasion.”

There’s an obvious disdain behind that shark like smile and soft voice of hers.  He really isn’t all that surprised, truth be told. Stark hadn’t been the only one in his small circle with a HYDRA file dedicated to them.  Each of his three closest companions had too although only Rhodes and someone named Jarvis had ranked high on the armed combatant threat scale.

Either way Bucky bites down the smile that wants to tick up the corner of his mouth, aware that it might not be exactly appropriate at the moment.

But then his thoughts often aren’t, which is another reason he prefers to sit back and observe more than anything else.  It’s far less likely to cause problems for him that way as he’s not the best judge of those kinds of things these days.

Social norms weren’t exactly high on his list of things to remember or relearn after he’d escaped from HYDRA.  At least none beyond what he’d needed to stay invisible where ever he was at any given moment.

“Pepper,” Rhodes says her name softly but even Bucky can tell there’s no real hint of censure in his tone.

“Jim,” Potts turns her head enough to smile at him, expression softer, more genuine, but wholly and completely unapologetic.  “Sorry to interrupt but don’t worry, this won’t take long. Just a few … loose ends to tie up.”

“Must be some important loose ends if you’ve come all this way,” Romanov speaks up then, voice soft.  “Especially since Tony didn’t show up at the welcoming ceremony.”

“Important?” Potts cuts a look in Romanov’s direction that could slice through steel before she pops open her briefcase with a quiet click.  “Well, I guess that depends on which side of the equation you’re on.”

“And what side are you on?”  Romanov presses calmly but Bucky can see the faintest hint of unease in her.

“In this?” Potts says as she pulls out a stack of thick files from the inside of her case.  The files are all black except for one sitting about two thirds of the way towards the bottom of the pile.  With its thick crimson leather casing Bucky can tell that file in particular must be special. “Well in this I’m on the only side that matters.”

Potts picks up the stack of files in both hands, and then moves down the table until she’s standing directly in front of Steve.

She sets the stack of files down in front of him with a deliberate sort of gentleness.

“And that side,” Potts announces softly, eyes locked onto Steve, “is _Tony’s_.”

“What is all of this?”  Steve asks as he picks up the first file off of the top of the stack with hands that shake just a bit.

Bucky watches him open it slowly, cautiously, before his brows furrowed in confusion and he flips it back closed again.

“Like I said,” Potts tells him with a smile that’s, somehow, even more vicious than before, “just a few loose ends that need to be tied up.  A sort of … spring cleaning.”

“This is …” Steve goes to say, eyes bright and face carved with deep lines as he looks up at Potts.  “I don’t …”

“You don’t what?  Understand?” Potts cuts him off sharply.  “No I suppose you wouldn’t would you? You’ve never been very good at looking at the fine print before you rush head first into things have you?”

Potts reaches across the table to pluck the file from Steve’s hands.

“Let’s see if I can’t make this entire process go just a bit more smoothly shall we?”  Potts flips the file open, takes one look at it and then tosses it back down onto the table in front of Steve still open.  “These are your new identification papers that I took the liberty of getting processed for you as your old ones are no longer accurate.”

She grabs the next file and opens it for a quick peek.

“This is your copy of the NDA concerning any and all Stark Industries ideas, projects, or assets you might have knowledge of.  You might recall that you signed that when you moved into the Tower the first time,” Potts says as she tosses it down still open on top of the first one.  “It is still in effect and will be enforced if violated.”

The next file.

“This is another, more detailed, NDA you signed when you married Tony,” she tosses the file down, “it is also still in effect and will be enforced if further violated.”

The next file.

“A suppression order prohibiting you from speaking to the public or the press about anything else regarding life with or around Tony that the previously mentioned NDAs might not cover.”  Potts pauses long enough to cut a look up at Steve. “As you might have guessed it will be enforced if violated.”

Steve somehow looks paler than even more.

Bucky’s feels a dawning sort of awareness come to life inside of him because he’s pretty sure he knows where this is leading even if Steve hasn’t realized it yet.

Bucky’s earlier idle thought was right.

This is going to _hurt_.

Potts picks up the next file.

“A reclamation order for any and all SI licensed property not available to the public that might have been missed in the initial search process.  The only exceptions being any technology and/or assets that might be covered in the limited agreement SI has in place with the Avengers Accords Council.”

The next file.

Only this time Potts looks even more pleased than before when she tosses it down onto the growing pile on the table top.

“This is your copy of the prenuptial agreement you signed,” Potts says with no small amount of relish.  “Which you actually have violated rather _extensively_.  And it is now being enforced, _in full_.”

There’s a collective in-drawn breath from the rest of the table.

Bucky watches as Steve’s hand comes up to clutch at his necklace and the ring he wears there, a terrible sort of grief and awareness finally blossoming to life on his face.

The next file on the pile is the crimson one and by this point Bucky absolutely knows _exactly_ what’s about to happen.

“This,” Potts doesn’t throw the crimson file down on top of the rest of them, instead she slides it across the table top slowly, fingertips almost caressing the thick paper, “is your divorce decree.  Effective as of four months ago you are, once again, simply Mr. Steven Grant Rogers. You no longer have the right to the Stark name or all that that implies.”

The table erupts into chaos, most of everyone talking at once.  Bucky just leans back in his chair and watches because this is, after all, not actually his business.  This is between Steve and Stark, Potts being his proxy aside.

Even if it is fairly obvious that Potts being here now and doing this in front of everyone was done on purpose.

On her part Potts just stands there, a small smile on her face and her eyes locked onto Steve who looks absolutely _gutted_.

“Still doing Stark’s dirty work, Potts?” Barton sneers from Romanov’s other side.  It lacks the bite it had even a year ago as far as Bucky can tell. If anything Barton just seems tired, like his attitude is more out of habit than anything else.  “Thought you were done being his secretary. Guess it only applies to things he’s too much of a coward to do himself huh?”

“Barton watch your mouth and mind your own business,” Rhodes’ voice is cutting and cold.  “I might be team leader but I can and will  _put you in the floor_ if you push me.”

Surprisingly enough Barton actually quiets down, expression mulish but unrepentant.

“I might not be Tony’s PA anymore Mr. Barton but I do, occasionally, enjoy helping him with simple tasks beneath both of our pay grades,” the unruffled smile Potts shoots in Barton’s direction then is nothing short of beatific.  “Including taking out the trash.”

Bucky can see why this woman has become just as admired and feared in the corporate world as Stark himself.

“Pepper _please_ ,” Steve’s hands are planted on top of the files as he leans forwards, desperation on his face.  “I want to talk to Tony. This … this isn’t happening. You can’t just end my marriage like this.  I won’t let it happen. _Tony_ won’t let it happen.”

“Do not, for one second,” Potts says calmly, “think that this divorce was done by anyone but Tony Stark himself.  He’s done with you, Rogers. Washing his hands completely. I’m just the one with the pleasure of delivering the message and cleaning up a few of the minor details.”

“He _wouldn’t_ ,” Steve insists, tears bright and thick in his eyes, voice rough and ragged.  “He can’t just do this to us, to our marriage. _He loves me_.”

“Tony might have been the one to go through with the divorce,” Potts sneers just a bit, calm demeanor slipping for a split second, “but he wasn’t the one who did this to your marriage.  You are.”

“I know we fought and I, I hurt him but I if I could just _talk_ to him,” Steve half begs, half demands, “if I could just make him understand, to give me another chance to explain...”

“Do you really think we’d let you anywhere near him ever again?”  Potts asks softly, dangerously. “Oh no, not after what you did, after the _damage_ you caused.  No, if I and SI’s legal team have anything to say about it, you’ll never speak to Tony again outside of the actual apocalypse.”

“You can’t do that,” Steve tells her again, voice edging into a desperate sort of outrage.  “You _can’t_.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong.  Because this file,” Potts taps one vibrant red nail against the outside of the next file as she picks it up and then throws it down on top of the others, “says that I most certainly _can_.”

This time Potts doesn’t even bother to wait for Steve to look down at the file.

Instead she just plants her hands on the glass top of the table and leans forwards.

“You see,” her voice is silky but sharp, a razor cutting bone deep and bloodless, “this file contains a specially crafted restraining order.  It dictates that you will not come within more than five hundred yards of either Tony’s person, any of his personal properties, any event you have prior knowledge that he may decide to attend, or any corporate property Stark Industries owns.”

“Tony’s still an Avenger,” Steve protests.  “I know he didn’t come to the welcome ceremony but he’s an Avenger.  He’ll have to … we’ll have to work together. He’ll have to see me then.”

“Not anymore he’s not,” Rhodes is the one who speaks up then, something pleased and vicious settled in his expression as all attention abruptly shifts towards him.  “Tony resigned his spot on the official Avenger’s roster. He has a separate personalized contract with the Accords Council for his role as Iron Man. But he is not and will not be a part of this _team_ ever again.  By his own choice.  You don’t get to use that as a way to get to him.”

“Which is where we get to the special part of this restraining order,” Potts cuts in sharply before Steve or anyone else can say anything.  “The only exception to any of these stipulations are, of course, any sort of world ending and/or extinction level events in which Tony works alongside the Avengers Initiative as an active duty combatant.  Other than that you are ordered, by law, to _stay away from him_.”

“What about …,” Steve swallows hard.  “I have things at the Tower still.”

“Your assets have already been separated and put into storage for you to pick up at your earliest convenience and your own expense.  By violating the prenuptial agreement as you did you are not entitled the previously set amount of alimony. You will however be left with the monetary assets you had prior to your marriage.  Tony has no need or interest in your money after all,” Potts presses on mercilessly. “You’ll have to forgive me for not having the amount memorized. I’m not exactly accustomed to dealing with numbers that small.”

Bucky bites down on the bark of harsh laughter that threatens to bubble up in his throat.  Beside him Steve doesn’t even flinch.

They all know that Steve’s aim had nothing to do with getting any kind of property or money but more about getting the chance to get close enough to Stark to talk to him.

“You no longer have any ties to Tony and you _will not_ seek him out.”  Potts continues. “You will not call, text, email, smoke signal, or _astral project_ in his general direction.  If you violate the terms of this order I will personally see to it that you are slapped with so many lawsuits that if we’re ever invaded again the aliens will know you’re in litigation.  And I’ll sleep like a baby every night afterwards. Now I know you have a hard time understanding laws and rules being applied to you but is this understood?”

“ _No_ ,” Steve practically whispers the word out.  “No I don’t. I _can’t_ …  you can’t do this.  I’ll fight it. Fight this and you.  Anything to get him …” Steve breaks off, brings a hand up to cover his eyes, “this isn’t … I _want_... ”

“I could not factually care less about what you want.  But let me assure you, I can fully back up every single claim laid out before you,” Potts’ smile is more of a snarl, red lips peeled back to show off the whites of her teeth.  “And I most certainly will if necessary. Really, you should’ve read the fine print of the prenuptial agreement I had you sign. It is absolutely ironclad, I assure you of that.  So go ahead. Fight me on it. Try me, Rogers. I’m _begging_ you.   _Because I can do this all day_.”

That familiar phrase echoes across the room like a gunshot.

“Pepper, please,” Steve whispers raggedly, a hand coming up to grip the ring still hanging around his neck.  “ _I love him_.  You know I do.”

“I thought you did,” Potts corrects evenly.  “I thought you loved Tony just as much as he loved you.  But then you did the one thing you knew he’d never be able to forgive.  You lied to him. Tony was your husband and you were supposed to know him.  You were supposed to protect him and take care of him, and instead, after everything you know he’s been through, you _lied_ to him and called it _kindness_.  And then you beat him down and you left him in a HYDRA base.  You have _no idea_ what your _love_ has cost him.”

Steve’s sob is audible this time even through the hand he brings up to cover his mouth but Potts obviously doesn’t care.  Not if the disgust in her expression and the way she sneers is anything to go by.

Bucky’s sure that it is.

Bucky doesn’t understand the majority of the choices Steve has made in the past few years so he can only imagine how Potts and Rhodes must feel.  Not to mention Stark himself.

“For my last bit of business,” Potts straightens up and steps back over towards her briefcase where she pulls out a small black box.  “I need one more thing from you Mr. Rogers and then I can put this entire little visit to rest. Finally.”

“Haven’t you taken enough from him already?”  Maximoff snarls from further down the table.

“I’m only taking back what Tony gave to him in the first place,” Potts cuts a look in her direction.  “Be grateful Tony’s content to wash his hands of the rest of you otherwise I’m sure I’d have a few files with your name on them as well, _witch_.”

“Wanda,” Steve rasps as he scrubs his hands over his face and attempts to straighten his shoulders, “don’t.  Just, don’t.”

“Steve …” Maximoff protests softly.  “You don’t deserve this cruel-”

“This is touching, really it is,” Potts cuts in as she moves to stand across from Steve again, “but I’m afraid I have a schedule to keep.  I’d much rather finish this up quickly as I have other, much more important, things to do if you don’t mind.”

Potts puts the box on the table and slides it across to him.

Steve reaches out, picks it up, and opens it slowly only to stare down at it in obvious confusion.

Beside him Bucky’s surprised to see that it’s empty.

“I don’t …” Steve looks up at Potts at a loss.

The smile on her face is wide, vicious, and gleaming.

“The fine print of the prenuptial agreement mandates the return of all SI or Stark patented technology not available to the public,” Potts says silkily.  “And since it was created from a piece of the Mark III Iron Man armor, that includes your wedding ring.”

Steve’s hand automatically flies up to cover the ring protectively.

“ _Please_ …” it’s a tiny whisper of sound.

“You already know what’s going to happen if you fail to abide by the agreement,” Potts’ smile widens even further.  "So please, force me to take it from you.  It would be my genuine pleasure."

Steve’s eyes clench closed and Bucky can see the way his hands shake as he reaches up to unclasp the necklace.

Potts barely waits for him to put the ring in the box before she reaches over to pick it up, snapping it closed and tossing it carelessly into her briefcase in one fluid motion.

“Well then,” Potts says with yet another glimmering smile as she snaps the locks on the briefcase and picks it up, “it was a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Rogers.  Jim, I’ll see you at Tony’s later if you’re still available. We’re doing pizza and drinks.”

Then, without another word, Potts turns on her heel and strides back out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

For a moment the room is quieter than a graveyard and just as cheerful.

And then Steve seems to _break_ , shoulders hunching in on themselves as he folds down until his forehead is pressed against the table top.

Bucky hesitates for a split second before he bites back a grimace and reaches his right hand out to pat Steve lightly on the back.

If the way Steve’s shoulders shake beneath his palm is anything to go by it doesn’t really help.

In all honesty, sitting there at the center of everyone’s attention and listening to the harsh, bitten off sobs that Steve can’t seem to completely choke down despite how hard he’s obviously trying, Bucky would probably be more comfortable _in_ a grave at this point.

“Well,” Rhodes clears his throat lightly after a few seconds, “now that that’s out of the way shall we continue?”

When Bucky looks over at him he’s leaned back in his chair, chin propped on his fist, and looking more than a bit bored.

Steve having a breakdown beside him or not, Bucky has to admire the man’s absolutely flawless poker face in that moment.

“God Rhodes can’t you at least pretend to give a shit?” Barton bites out, a sympathetic kind of agony on his face as he stares at Steve.

“You know what?”  Rhodes drawls carelessly.  “I don’t think I can.”

“Heartless bastard,” Barton sneers even with the way Romanov reaches out and lays a hand on his arm to calm him.

“Maybe,” Rhodes agrees lightly as he straightens up just a bit in his seat, gaze locked on Barton with a vicious sort of intensity.  “I probably lost it around the same time I shattered my spine. Guess I’ll have to see if Tony can fix it for me somehow. Like he did my legs.”

Across the way Bucky sees the way Wilson flinches and Barton goes pale.

There is, he’s certain, some kind of story behind all of that, likely from back during the so called Civil War.

And, again, if Rhodes’ deadpan delivery plus the time Bucky’s already spent around Barton says anything as to what it could be then he’s sure he can guess the levels of _spiteful_ it had probably reached.

“Jim,” Romanov speaks up then, voice even with only a hint of calculated censure, “you need to give him some time.  Pushing like this, after what’s just happened, it’s petty and it’s immature.”

“Since when are you the emotional sensitivity police?” Rhodes asks.

“Since there needs to be an adul-” Romanov goes to say.

“Never mind,” Rhodes interrupts sharply before she can finish her sentence, waving her and her answer, aside.  “I just remembered I don’t actually care. Especially since I’ve heard this song and dance from you before on other subjects.  Hell, I’m pretty sure if I give you half a chance you’ll start talking about my _ego_ too and I _do not_ have either the time or the patience for that shit.”

With that Rhodes pushes his chair back and gets to his feet, straightening his suit with sharp, practiced tugs as he moves.  He picks up the tablet from the table in front of him and then levels all of them with an impressively unimpressed look.

“If Rogers can’t pull himself together for this then we’ll have to reconvene first thing tomorrow,” Rhodes says as he walks down the length of the table and towards the conference room door.  “This briefing is more for your sake than mine as it's supposed to make the transition go more smoothly, but I don’t have time to stick around and babysit you anymore today. Pick a few rooms out and get settled in, or don’t.  It’s up to you. Understand?”

Rhodes barely waits for the others except for Steve to nod before he’s moving on, already standing impatiently at the now open conference room door.

“If there are any problems,” Rhodes smirks just a bit before he wipes his expression clean, “then just suck it up and hold them for tomorrow because the clock’s ticking and I’ve got a celebration to get to.”

Parting shot still echoing in the air, Rhodes strides out the room without another word.  Beneath his hand Bucky feels the way Steve shudders just a bit. The barb Rhodes had so obviously tossed out with an almost casual but still pointed kind of cruelty had obviously struck true.

Just like with Potts, Bucky can’t help but admire the man a bit.

He’s a sniper at heart after all.  So aim like that, the ability to hone in on someone’s weaknesses so ruthlessly?  Well that’s something he can’t help but appreciate even if Steve is the obvious primary target before the rest of the group.  Although it’s obvious that neither Rhodes nor Potts had been even slightly interested in pulling their punches with them either.

Not that Bucky particularly cares either way.

The others are, as far as Bucky’s concerned, a non issue for him.  He has no attachment to any of them, only Steve, and even that is _tenuous_ in ways that are hard to name.

Their connection is still there.  The chords binding them together still strong enough to have given him the strength and push he’d needed to rip himself free of almost a century of brainwashing, but they’re … _thin_ somehow.  Sallow and tender in a lot of ways.

Unlike the almost panting desperation Steve had shown in the past to hunt Bucky down and then keep them together, Bucky’s own drive to keep Steve safe is … _calmer_.

Less vicious and all-encompassing on his end.

He doesn’t want Steve hurt of course, doesn’t enjoy seeing him in pain and would go to bat for him against an enemy in a heartbeat, but it’s _different_ than it used to be.

Outside of the field of battle Bucky doesn’t have that driving need to _protect_ Steve like he used to.  Once, he thinks, he’d have stepped between Steve and any and everyone trying to hurt him for any reason.  Would have been the first one to step forwards to fight the battles that the thin, brittle Steve in his patchwork memories hadn’t been able to.

But, Bucky knows, so much has changed with and between them and that urge to protect doesn’t come as naturally outside of a firefight as everyone says it once had.

This is just one more example of that.

Because while he doesn’t enjoy watching Steve hurt like this he can’t find that fiery sort of outrage that the others seem able to latch onto on Steve’s behalf.

But then it’s hard these days for Bucky to take too much offense to things that don’t try to hurt him directly.  Or even most things that do, to be completely honest.

HYDRA hadn’t been big on autonomy after all.  Instead they’d taken that focus he’d always been able to find behind his rifle and they’d beaten it into every square inch of him.  They’d _encouraged_ him to ignore everything but the mission, to not register anything that didn’t impact said mission.  Blood and pain and wounds of all kind had never mattered as long as they hadn’t impacted the mission.

The Winter Soldier would, after all, heal up just fine in the end.  The benefit of essentially being a human tank.

That narrowed sort of worldview had been one thing that had carried over once he was out from underneath their slimy thumbs.  And while he’d shaken the programming that ability to focus hadn’t disappeared so much as it had _shifted_ just a bit.

His enforced tunnel vision is gone now.  Blinders removed and strings cut. He’s able to see the entire picture of the world in ways he’d never been allowed to under HYDRA.

He is _aware_ in ways they’d never let him be.

This amalgamated thing he’s made himself into, one part James “Bucky” Barnes and one part Winter Soldier, is proof of that.

And while Bucky’s more than accepted that he’ll never wholly be one or the other, he’s also slowly beginning to pick out a few of the obvious differences between the him of the past and the him of now.

For one there is a selfishness in him that Bucky’s semi-certain didn’t used to be there.  An unwillingness to take hits that aren’t aiming for him no matter how fast and perfectly he’ll heal from the aftermath.

And that impacts the way he views Steve and their cracked and crumbling friendship.

Because, for the first time in their history that Bucky can remember, he’s content to leave Steve to his own devices.

And this entire mess with Stark, with Steve’s _ex-husband_ , is no exception.

Like Bucky had thought earlier, before all of this had happened, there’s an ocean of pity inside of him for Steve at times.  But it’s an ocean that Bucky has no interest in drowning in.

Steve had made his bed where Stark is concerned and, for once, Bucky’s mostly content to let him lay in it on his own.

Especially since he can’t help but think that Steve … well he might just deserve it this time as far as Bucky’s concerned.

Sitting there, surrounded by people he doesn’t care about and just barely likes, Steve crumbling beneath his hand, Bucky closes his eyes for a split second and swallows down his sigh.

He really does miss his apartment.

Misses the simple but solid little life he’d been trying to carve out for himself.

And, above all else for some reason, he misses the damn cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be sliding back in Tony's direction next chapter if all goes to plan.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back with Tony!

“Is it done?” Tony asks without turning around, attention focused on the skyline with a deliberate sort of intent.

“Yes,” Pepper’s voice is soft and even.  The hand she puts on his shoulder is even gentler somehow.

“The ring?”  Tony reaches up to press the fingers of his flesh hand softly against her knuckles.

“In my briefcase,” Pepper tells him even as she steps closer, sliding her hand down the side of his arm so that she can hook her chin on his shoulder.

“Good,” Tony sighs just a bit as he lets himself lean back into her warmth, careful not to unbalance her with his weight.  “Maybe I can find a nice active volcano to drop it into.”

“Might be best,” Pepper agrees even as she slides her arms around his waist in a careful hug.

Pepper, like Rhodey and Happy, like Vision and the other kids, is one of the few people Tony actually lets touch him these days.

The silence that grows between them is comfortable in the way that only years of friendship and loyalty, of falling in love and falling apart and falling back together again in a new way can produce.

“You’re free from him,” Pepper whispers as she presses their cheeks together.  “From all of them. And I’ll make sure it stays that way, no matter what I have to do.  No matter who I have to go through in the process.”

“Thank you,” Tony grabs her hand in his, lifts it to press a kiss against her palm, and then presses it against his heart.  “For everything.”

“I love you Tony,” Pepper tells him.  “Always have and always will, no matter what.  And that means I’m going to keep you safe. It’s my turn to protect you now, in all the ways that I can.  In all the ways that you’ll let me.”

“I love you too, Pep,” Tony tells her as he lets his eyes slip closed.

Tony lets Pepper hold him there by the window as the sun begins to set, bleeding red and gold light out across the penthouse’s walls.

He very deliberately does not ask anything else about Steve or any of the others.

And he finds that here, with one of his oldest and most trusted friends at his back, he doesn’t really care to.

He doesn’t owe Steve or any of the others his curiosity any more.

Doesn’t owe them anything at all really.

Not anymore.

They had carved the charity and care he’d had for them out of him.

Steve had ripped it out by the roots.

Tony has no interest in trying to replace it now.

It’s gone now.

Dust in the wind.

~~~

“Pepper made him cry,” Rhodey tells Tony a handful of hours and a small stack of pizza boxes later.

Rhodey’s head is in his lap, a half empty beer bottle balanced on his stomach, and his eyes are closed.

“It wasn’t _enough_ ,” there’s something cold in Rhodey’s voice then, something vicious and mean.  “It’ll _never_ be enough.  He doesn’t have the _right_ to cry after what he did.”

Tony just hums and rubs his fingers lightly over Rhodey’s scalp.

This right here, Rhodey’s love and protectiveness, this is enough for him.

~~~

Rhodey’s right though, even if Tony will never say it aloud.

There’s a part of Tony, dark and deep, that whispers it will _never be enough_.

But the rest of Tony …

Well the rest of him is still so _tired_.

He’ll take peace and distance over the rest.

~~~

That night, once their impromptu little party finally winds down, Pepper leaves the box with the ring on the coffee table in the living room when she goes.

Tony stares at it for a long moment and then he turns on his heel and heads towards his room.

It’s easier to leave it behind than Tony would have ever thought it would be only a few short years ago.

But then, Tony wasn’t the one who did the leaving this time.

Not really.

But then he never really is.

That’s always been everyone else's job, not his.

He should have known Steve wouldn’t be any different.

~~~

“FRI, sweetheart, you up for doing daddy a favor?”  Tony asks as he stretches out on his bed, wine colored silk sheets whisper soft against his skin.

He could do what he’s about to ask FRIDAY to do for him on his own but in this instance he wants to be selfish.

Wants someone else to do the work for him, no matter how easy it may be.

“For you Boss?” FRIDAY chirps back merrily.  “Always.”

“I need you to access _Server SRS_ and then isolate all traces of _Project File: HDOML_ ,” Tony instructs her.  “Be sure to include preliminary research data, experimental data, and any other archival data that matches the parameters.  They should all be stored in the cascading files but do a search to be sure.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Done,” FRIDAY announces after a handful of minutes.  “Server accessed and all traces of the project file have been identified and tagged.  What do you want me to do with them, Boss?”

“Delete it all and scrub our private server,” Tony tells her.  “Re-purpose the space for some other function if you need to and then branch out and find anything that matches the project file’s parameters and has been uploaded to a public site.  That can all go too. I’m counting on you to salt the digital ground without it tracing back to us, my girl. I don’t want to be able to find a single speck of it in our home base or anywhere we’ve got access to if at all possible.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, Boss,” FRIDAY sounds almost smug.  “Thank you for trusting me with this.”

“Trust you with my life, baby girl,” Tony says softly as he traces a mental hand over her code lovingly.

It’s true too and they both know it.

Tony lets himself relax back into the bed some more.

FRIDAY will, Tony knows, be almost ridiculously thorough in her spite.

All traces of the server he’d kept dedicated to Steve and _HDOML_ will be gone soon and Tony won’t have to worry about touching any of it.

It’s not the way Tony had ever imagined _Project File: Happiest Day Of My Life_ coming to an end.

But then a lot of things have ended in ways Tony would have never expected over the past few years.

Getting rid of all of the data he’d collected from back to just before he’d started dating Steve isn’t really that much of a loss to Tony now.

It’s over after all, the thing he’d spent so long building and studying and marveling over.  It had been crushed beneath the edge of Steve’s shield, beneath the merciless strength of his lies.

So, Tony has no qualms about having FRIDAY erase every bit of it that she can get her digital hands on.

No sense keeping any of it.

It's not like Tony has any use for the photos or videos from his and Steve's dates or especially anything to do with the wedding.

Tony doesn’t need nor want anything to do with any of it.

~~~

Hovering above the water once again, Steve’s ring in his hand, Tony can’t bring himself to toss the thing into the water like he had with his.

It doesn’t seem right somehow to let Steve’s ring fall into the water.

Just like melting it down or giving it to the bots to play with hadn’t felt right.

In fact there’s only one thing Tony can think to do with this ring, this symbol of all of the things that Steve had cast aside.

Only one thing that feels _right_.

Looks like Tony’s going to have to take a little trip.

~~~

Siberia isn’t as cold as Tony remembers it being.

But then that’s to be expected.

Tony’s a lot less human than he used to be, has Extremis running star hot through his veins.

Temperature isn’t really something that impacts him anymore.

Boots still in place but the rest of his armor tucked away, Tony picks through the debris of the bunker.

It’s even more desolate looking than it had been, which is only fitting.

But the rubble, the broken cryotubes, and the collapsed walls and twisted metal don’t keep Tony’s attention.

The all too familiar bloodstain does.

Tony remembers it, what had happened after Steve left him there.

Left him to bleed out and freeze by turns.

Remembers the way every breath had been agony beyond compare but he’d still managed to drag himself to the wall and out of the path of the cutting wind.

Remembers leaning against the cold concrete and biting back sobs that felt like knives in his chest.

Remembers the feeling of blood seeping out of the armor thanks to the normally airtight seals being broken.

Tony remembers all of that and the way that the cold had crept ever closer, seeping deeper and deeper into his bones with each passing second.

Remembers the way he stopped being able to feel his hand.

Remembers the horrible, yawing knowledge of what was happening to him.

Of who, exactly, had caused it all.

Tony remembers dying.

Remembers Steve killing him.

Extremis will never let him forget.

So really it’s only fitting that this is how it all truly ends.

Standing there, staring down at the bloodstain against the wall, Tony turns the ring over and over again in his hand.

And then he crouches down and places it gently in the center of the stain.

Tony had thrown his own wedding ring into the ocean, had let the water take it.

It’s only right that this ring stays here in this frozen place.

Poetic even.

This is where Tony died.

This is where Tony's husband killed him and everything they’d ever built together.

This is where Tony’s marriage ended.

The snow and the ice can keep this for him too.

~~~

Tony leaves.

He does not look back.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We take a tiny little detour as Tony takes a trip and makes a ... friend. Sort of.

Tony finds himself at loose ends for a bit.

With Extremis maximizing his output like never before and without the crushing weight of the Avengers on his shoulders, he has more free time on his hands now than he’s had for the better part of a decade.

Feeling a few tons lighter from the relative lack of _nerve destroying_ _stress_ and simultaneously feeling cut free from everything by having no one waiting at home for him besides the bots for the first time in years, Tony feels almost _bored_.

It’s a novel feeling.

For so many years now, most of his life really, boredom hasn’t even been an _option_ for Tony.

Howard had been a firm believer that Tony's hands being idle was basically a capital crime, one he'd punished ... harshly.

And after that Tony had never really allowed himself to feel that way either.

Boredom would have required him to stop moving long enough for the feeling to sink in.

Boredom would have meant failure, would have meant he wasn’t doing enough, would have meant he was, undoubtedly, disappointing someone somehow.

But now?

After he's died more times than should be possible?  Now that he's had his life ripped apart over and over again?

Now boredom is just … _boredom_.

So, maybe that’s why he does what he does.

Maybe the entire ill advised trip can be chalked up to something as simple and yet complex for Tony as boredom.

Except Tony knows himself better than that.

This little trip stems from something far greater and deeper than that.

Instead it stems from his almost masochistic sense of curiosity.

And that’s one thing he’s _never_ been able to avoid in his life.

His curiosity.

Because even if it hurts him, even if it’s agonizing and horrible, Tony would rather know.

Tony _has_ to know.

No matter what.

He can’t work with an equation, can't reach for the best solution or solve for x, if he doesn’t know all of the variables that exist.

It’s something he’d always thought Steve knew about him.

Is something Steve _should_ have known about him.

And yet ...

 _Well_.

And yet Tony ended up here in the end didn't he?

And that just about says it all about the things Steve should have known about Tony.

~~~

The building looks the same, a drab brick with black iron embellishments that have all obviously seen better days.

But, beyond the plywood boarding up a handful of windows, it looks exactly as it had the day everything had happened.

But then Tony had paid a decent amount of money to keep it that way, to buy the building outright and keep it unchanged until further notice.

He’d known somehow, even back then before he’d known the _truth_ , that he’d want to come here one day for one reason or another.

So he’d done what he normally did with issues like this, he’d thrown his name and bank account at the issue until he had what he wanted.

And in this case it had been the entire building, bought lock, stock, and barrel, and all former residents willingly relocated.

So, standing on the corner of a bustling street in Bucharest, Tony figures that now, over a year later, it’s finally time for this particular investment to pay off.

~~~

Stepping into what used to be Barnes’ apartment feels less like entering a strange place and more like somewhere he used to be familiar with.

It is, Tony knows, a product of his more obsessive tendencies.  He’s read the files, read the after-action reports and seen the photos more times than he can count.

He’d hyper-focused on the apartment and the entire chase that had followed for a month or so after everything that had happened.  Had searched through every bit of footage and every single note as if there was something hidden in the depth of all of it that might make things make sense again.

Now Tony knows every inch of the place by heart, could navigate it from memory with his eyes closed.

It hasn’t changed any in the time since Barnes’ capture which Tony was actually expecting.  Once the investigation had been finished Tony had the apartment sealed and allowed no one inside.

So nothing’s changed, the entire one room place has been sitting undisturbed like a time capsule just waiting for him to crack the seal on it.

The kitchen is the same faded yellow, glass and bits of wood and plaster from the now boarded up windows and the destroyed floor and walls still litters the place.

There’s boxes of food on the counters, a lone cup and bowl still gathering dust in the sink.

Tony’s almost curious enough to open the refrigerator but for once errs on the side of caution.

Overall the entire place looks dead and abandoned, dust thick on the few things scattered around but the place is otherwise bare.  He already knows there’s no personal effects left here of course, what few there had been had been confiscated, right down to the small pile of clothes Barnes had managed to accumulate.

Tony tries to imagine Barnes here, tries to imagine him sleeping on the ripped up mattress or cooking in the little kitchen.  Tries to imagine him living in these walls, less the weapon and more the man.

It’s surprisingly easy to imagine and Tony isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse somehow, his ability to picture Barnes in this space, living the life he’d cobbled together for himself.

A part of him can’t help but wonder if Barnes was _happy_ here before everything had come falling down.

Tony shakes the thoughts off sharply because it doesn’t matter.  Barnes isn’t here, doesn’t live in this crumbling little apartment anymore.  There are no secrets hidden in the walls or the floors for Tony either, no answers to questions he’s not even sure he really has anymore.

And even if there were it wouldn’t change anything.

There’s nothing he could learn here, in this place or from Barnes himself, that would change things.

It’s time to close out this final chapter, time to discard this last piece he’s been holding onto.

There’s nothing for Tony here.

He always knew that, deep down inside, but that knowing hadn’t been strong enough to stop the need to see this place for himself.

Even if he’s shut the door on his and Steve’s marriage, this place had felt almost taboo until this moment.  Like, for some reason, the stars had just never aligned just right to allow him to come here.

Until now.

And, in the end, there’s nothing here.

“Put in an order FRI,” Tony announces to the empty apartment.  “I want this building up to SI standard code in a month and then I want it reopened.  Send out a notice to the local abuse shelters if there are any and tell them we’ve got space here, priority to women and children.”

“Of course, Boss,” FRIDAY answers as promptly as always, a warm brush of code against the back of his mind.

They both know he could do all of that himself with a handful of minutes and a few directed thoughts but Tony doesn’t want to.

No, he’s done with this place for now.

The next time he sees it it’ll be more than it is now, will _stand_ for something more instead of being yet another monument to what could have, should have, been.

He might not have gotten anything out of holding onto this place, on coming here today, but very soon in the future others will.

A silver lining around the edges of the fucked up thundercloud that was this entire situation.

Maybe this piece of yet another one of his endings will be just the beginning someone else has been dreaming about.

Maybe.

~~~

Standing back out on the sidewalk in front of the building Tony takes a moment to tilt his head up towards the sky and breathe.

There might have been nothing waiting for him inside that apartment but, for some reason, Tony feels lighter now.

Feels more at ease than before, almost as if some small fractured piece of himself has abruptly slipped back into place.

He’s not sure _why_ but at the moment he’s loathe to examine the change too closely.

Hands pressed deep into his pockets, Tony goes to turn on his heel and walk away, off to find something else to occupy his time.  He’s just passing the mouth of the alley beside the apartment when a scuttling noise just loud enough to prick his Extremis enhanced hearing grabs his attention.  It’s followed by a loud, pained, yowling noise.

Curious and confident enough with his own skills, not to mention Extremis, to not worry about getting mugged, Tony can’t help but veer off to see what’s causing the commotion.

It takes him a few seconds to trace the noise but finally he spots the source.  There, huddled between a few garbage bags, is a cat.

It’s big thing, long in length and standing taller than most cats Tony has seen, but it’s also skinny as a rail.  One of its ears is split like something sliced clean through it and its multicolored fur is thick but matted down in places.

And hanging from its right paw is what looks like a massive old fashioned snap mouse trap.

His own right hand flexing absently, Tony can’t help the low noise of sympathy that escapes him.

“Look at you, _tesoro_ ,” Tony murmurs absently as he inches just a bit closer, already invested.  “You look like you’ve had almost as bad a year as I have.”

The cat hisses sharply but doesn’t try to run, instead it just backs itself further against the bags.

“Alright grumpy, alright,” Tony soothes as he backs away towards the mouth of the alley, hands up soothingly.  “You just stay right there for me.”

In the five minutes it takes Tony to duck into the corner store, buy a can of tuna, and make it back to the alley he already has the location of the nearest vet and is trying to keep himself from browsing various cat supplies in the back of his head.

He’s just going to get the thing some help, he isn’t going to keep it.

The closest thing he’s ever had to a pet is DUM-E after all, he's not equipped to handle a cat.

It takes twenty minutes of Tony crouching in absolute stillness with the can of tuna open in front of him before the cat starts to inch closer to him and the offer of food.

Unable to help himself Tony slowly reaches down to pet the filthy thing only to jerk his hand back sharply as it lashes out and opens up a set of deep furrows on the back of his hand before it scurries back and away from him.

“Good thing I’m tetanus and rabies proof, you little bastard,” Tony grumbles as he wipes the already healing gashes carelessly against the side of his pants.  He’s already going to have to throw this outfit away anyways since the stench from this alley is never going to wash out.

Another ten minutes of absolute stillness passes before the cat approaches him again, obviously too tempted by the tuna to be able to resist.

This time Tony reaches down with his right hand instead.

The cat lashes out again but then it seems to falter when its left claws hit metal.

To Tony’s surprise the cat turns its head towards his metal hand and sniffs at his fingertips for a moment before it rubs it’s teeth lightly against the metal and then turns back to eating.

Moving slowly Tony inches his right hand down until he can pinch the metal bar of the mouse trap between two fingers.  The thin rod of metal snaps with minimum pressure and the trap falls to the alley floor with a small clatter.

Tony and the cat both freeze.

The cat shakes it’s right paw sharply, yowls just a bit in pain, and then tucks it up high against its chest and turns back to the food.

It isn’t long before it’s nosing the empty can around on the asphalt, desperate for more.

“All out of grub, _gattino_ ,” Tony tells the thing.  “But the vet’ll have something for you better than whatever that was supposed to be because, just between you and me, that stuff you ate?  Not tuna. Not by a long shot.”

Tony reaches down again with his left hand, intent on picking the thing up, only to get another set of rapidly healing claw marks and a loud hiss.

“Rude,” Tony complains as he switches hands again.

And again the cat doesn’t so much as flinch when Tony touches his metal fingertips to its fur.

Curious despite himself and ever the scientist, Tony pulls his right hand back and moves his left forward again.

Hiss and another set of scratches.

Right hand.

Teeth and what might even be the beginnings of a purr.

Left hand.

Blood.

Right hand.

An unimpressed look and some light teething.

“Huh,” Tony huffs just a bit.  “You’re a strange one aren’t you, cat?”

The cat just blinks its huge amber eyes up at him in either agreement or a silent sort of _‘fuck you’_.  Tony’s never really been around cats so he’s honestly not sure which it is.

It doesn’t really matter either way because Tony already knows he’s not leaving this alley without the damn thing.

Probably not the country either if he’s being honest.

He's always been a soft touch for a hard luck case according to Rhodey and scruffy alley cats don't seem to be an exception to that rule.

Moving slowly Tony strips off his blazer, shifts his weight, and then darts forwards to wrap the coat around the cat.  It fights him of course but he manages to keep a hold of it until it exhausts itself.

Finally he gets the thing bundled up and held carefully but firmly against his chest with only the front of its face free from the fabric as he straightens up.

“Don’t look at me like that you menace,” Tony tells the glaring cat as he starts off towards the vet he has pinned on his mental map.  “Pep and Rhodey will probably think this is my version of another midlife crisis but you’ll be thanking me when you're living large in the Tower and eating the best of ... whatever it is cats actually eat.  But I swear to Thor if you give me fleas I’m ending this relationship right now.”

In its makeshift prison the cat twists a bit and yowls, a low and absolutely enraged sound.

Yeah, Tony’s probably going to regret this at least a little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me you guys, or whisper, or whatever:
> 
> http://rayshippouuchiha.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Seeing Things Differently](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138683) by [diddlydang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diddlydang/pseuds/diddlydang)




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